A Mother Needs No Counsel
by SarellaMartell
Summary: The mother of the Lord of the Iron Islands grapples with demons from the past as she prepares to rescue her daughter from the Mormonts.


_This short fic is part of a larger, ongoing narrative taking place in an A Song of Ice and Fire Roleplay. If you're interested in joining the story, you can create a character in Westeros or Essos on reddit at /r/gameofthronesrp. Thanks for reading!_

**A Mother Needs No Counsel**

Urron was unhappy.

He had been sulking about the castle like a whimpering dog with its tail between his legs, and just like a mutt Alannys paid him no mind. What right had he to the news of Lord Loren Lannister's death? What right had he to anger?

The man held too much power on Pyke, the Lady Greyjoy knew, and he needed to be reminded of his place from time to time.

_"I have kept your secrets for decades,"_ he had told her, and the implication that he could decide to do so no longer left an uneasy feeling in her gut. She pushed thoughts of betrayal and treason from her head as she pulled on her shabby leather boots.

Her ship and crew were waiting at Lordsport and she did not intend to be late. The sun was not yet above the horizon, and darkness filled her bedchamber. Alannys didn't need the light to know where her belt was, or her axe, or her dirk. She knew every inch of the room she once shared with Damron by heart.

Nearly twenty five years now she had spent without him, sleeping in his bed, living in his castle, ruling over his kingdom. Would he have been pleased by the job she'd done? Would it have been enough to forgive her sins?

_I let him go… I let Tyrius go and he betrayed us._

The laces on her boots were soggy and stank of the bay, like rotten clams and stagnant saltwater.

The sound of soft knocking interrupted her thoughts and she stood to answer it. When the door creaked open, the sliver of light from the hallway's torches violated the sanctity of the bedroom's darkness, illuminating the worn and ancient furniture in a soft yellow glow and casting long shadows behind the crooked bed and dresser, a moth eaten arm chair, and a hundred grooves and cracks in the cold stone floors.

Urron was unhappy.

Alannys widened the gap between the door and the threshold and he entered briskly, grey, green, and blue robes swishing about his ankles. He smelled of rain and ocean spray, and his long beard and wispy white hair were as damp as his clothing. It must have been misting when he crossed the rope bridge to the keep.

The priest moved to the hearth at once and knelt to light a fire. Alannys imagined his old bones creaking as he bent, the thin skeleton of a man. _How does he yet live?_ she wondered.

Urron was nearly twice her age, and he still stood like a weathervane in a storm, rusted but not corroded, surviving against the battering winds and rains and all the odds as well.

It seemed unjust that he endured, while a man like Loren Lannister was dead. She had just seen the West's Warden not long ago, and while he was no longer the strapping man she'd first met at Casterly Rock many years ago, he had appeared neither frail nor unhealthy.

_Urron is ironborn,_ she remembered. _We are made of a different mettle._

"Have you come to a decision?" he asked Alannys. His voice betrayed his age, raspy and hoarse. He had returned from Great Wyk with a persistent cough, and though it was receding now it still left his voice weak and worn.

_Would that it had killed him._

"I have."

"You did not consult me." He stood and set aside the tools from the fire, turning to give his full attention to her now. "What has changed?"

"Nothing has changed."

"Liar," he accused her. "You've always had a talent for lying, but I've known you too long to not be able to see through your deceit."

The fire grew at his back, tongues of orange flames lapping against the log. She walked to her bedside table and removed her dagger and belt from one of the drawers.

"He Who Dwells Beneath the Waves listens with _my_ ears and he condemns your falsehoods, Alannys of House Farwynd. He speaks with _my_ words and he names you a liar."

"I seek your counsel on matters of my own choosing," she snapped back, rounding on him in an instant. "And you would do well to not insult the Lady of the Iron Islands."

"Lord Aeron rules here," Urron glared back at her. "Or have you forgotten?"

She gave a short and bitter laugh. "Yes, Aeron rules. Aeron is a Lord, seawater quenches thirst, and fish walk on land."

She crossed the room and stood before him. "_I_ rule these islands." She leaned in close and shoved a finger at his chest. "Don't you _ever_ forget that."

Urron and his threats and warnings could wait. They would be there when she returned. _As they always are,_ she thought, turning away.

Lady Alannys fastened her sealskin belt around her waist, shoved her axe into its sheath, and then pushed her dull and greasy hair back behind her ears and out of her face. She made for the door.

"Where are you going?" the Drowned Man demanded.

"To Bear Island," was the reply. She did not turn around to face him. "To get my daughter back."

_Alannys Greyjoy is played by /u/gotroleplay7_


End file.
